Just Breathe
by ANGiiEbaby
Summary: A story of love in uncertain times. Shipper, rated T for adult themes.


_Hey everyone! I was just crazy inspired last night and so I sat down and just wrote with no plan or anything, and this is the product. I haven't quite decided if I will continue this or just leave it as a one-shot piece. I think it works both ways, so we'll see. This is a new style for me, so be nice! It is rated 'T' and it is a little warm, but not graphic whatsoever. So take that into account before reading and I hope you all enjoy!_

_-Ang_

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><p>There are very few things of which I am certain. In this moment, I can think of only two. One; I am an angel of God, of truth and light, a messenger sent by Him to Earth to offer guidance to humans in all walks of life, and two; I am about to be in serious trouble. Or rather, <em>we<em> are about to be in serious trouble. Beyond that, I am unsure of nearly everything.

I haven't had much time to myself recently and things are starting to blur together into a hazy fog of thoughts, memories, events. I am suspicious that they are keeping me extra busy on purpose, that they themselves are beginning to suspect that something is not quite right. The assignments are short, usually sweet, not ever anything that I can get myself too involved with, as I tend to do. I am not used to being that angel, the one that swoops in and saves the day, if you know what I mean. At least, I'm not used to that anymore. I worked in Search and Rescue before, but that feels like a lifetime ago. I am alone tonight and it gives me time to think, to process, to obsess over things that might not matter anyway. It's eerily silent in this house and it unsettles me to the point that I find it hard to keep still. Waiting around with nothing to do makes me anxious. I thought that having a little break would be good for me, but as I sit here and ponder all that has happened in the last months, I feel that I might have been wrong.

I am going through an evaluation, again, and some days it's all I can do to keep my anxiety levels under control. I worry because, as if the evaluation process itself isn't nerve-wracking enough, _this_ evaluation is not a positive one, unlike the last, when I was up for a promotion. I am not sure what exactly is being decided, but my gut feeling is that it's the exact opposite as before. Instead of moving up, I believe that my job as a supervisor might be in danger. My existence itself could be in jeopardy for all I know, but I try not to think about that.

It is as I am reaching for my third cup of coffee that I feel him coming. It's so quiet that I'm sure I can almost hear his light footsteps treading on the driveway. I rise and move towards the window to look out and sure enough, there he is, dressed as though he's coming straight from an assignment. The light cream colored sweater, his hands shoved into the pockets of crisp khaki pants. As always, my breath seems to catch in my chest as if the air in the room has suddenly gone too thin. The expression on his face is hard to read from here, but it's almost not worth noticing that he seems to be troubled. I step back a few paces from the window and begin to fidget restlessly as I wait for him to come in. It's been nearly a week now since I saw him last and even that was the briefest of meetings. It seems as though they are trying to keep him insanely busy too.

The front door is unlocked and he lets himself in. I can hear him stop in the foyer, perhaps listening for me, smelling for the scent of coffee in the air. It takes him only a moment to conclude correctly that I am just in the next room. Still, I am hardly breathing as he steps into the den. He says nothing and I'm glad, as I don't think I could manage to respond with no air in my lungs. He comes up behind me, his arms snaking around my waist, and he pulls me back against his strong chest, his hold on me tender but firm. He bends his head down and his lips find the side of my face, my neck, my collarbone. My eyelids flutter closed and my knees threaten to give out on me as my heart rate increases ten-fold. He turns slightly to the right and moves me away from the window, backing me gently against the nearest wall, his hands coming up to frame my face delicately. When his lips finally touch mine, I can feel my very nerves beginning to stir. His breath is warm and sweet and intoxicating and it only takes me a second to realize where exactly this is leading.

"Andrew," I whisper breathily against his mouth, fully intending to protest, "I … can't ..."

I'm too stressed, too on edge, too overwhelmed for this. At least, this is what I try to convince myself of. I know without a shadow of a doubt that he would never pressure me to do anything I didn't want to do, but he can read me well and seems to know that I don't mean what I say, not really. His deep green eyes meet mine and still he says nothing. I know that he can see into my very soul, that he can see my hopes and fears and everything in between. He knows me inside and out and sometimes, I feel that he knows me better than I know myself. The fierceness of his gaze makes me nearly delirious with a longing for him that I can't even begin to understand. Ignoring my weak attempt to talk my way out of his embrace, he kisses me again, effectively rendering me powerless. I know that this battle of wills is over before it even begins and so I surrender to him entirely, as resisting anymore would be exhausting and ineffective.

It's quite a heady thing to give oneself so completely to another, thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. This is not the first time we have been together like this by far, and still I am nervous. I can't seem to help my trembling hands and so it is a welcome relief when he grasps them in his own, threading his fingers through mine and holding tight. I'm rapidly losing my sense of time and space and so it comes as no surprise to me that one moment I'm standing in this very spot and the next, I'm not walking but floating up the stairs towards the bedroom on the left, the one with the big brass bed. He carries me easily and opens the door, maneuvers us inside, and shuts it again without missing a beat.

He is infinitely gentle with me every time, but especially so tonight as he settles me against the pillows and lets loose the tie that holds my hair back, tangling his fingers in the thick mass of auburn curls and I can hardly breathe again as his nimble hands unclothe me piece by piece. With no more barriers separating us, he proceeds to love every inch of me meticulously, his lips and fingertips dancing across the planes of my body, the magic within them leaking out all over my skin. It is inconceivable how he can make me feel this way, how he can possibly elicit such passion from me, how he can make me shiver and set me on fire all at the same time and when we are finally joined together, I feel as though I am soaring to the edge of some distant place and back. Again and again, as he tends to do, I am driven to the point of no return and just as I am sure that I will fall over said edge, he brings me down to start all over until I can't help myself but to cry out, my breath coming in shuddering gasps. With my fingers curling into his hair, it is all I can do to hold on as I am seized by a rush of sensation so intense that I am nearly blinded, sure that my very being is shattering into a million pieces.

Eons later, or perhaps it is only moments, he gathers me into his arms yet again and shifts us just so that I can lay above him and rest comfortably against his chest, in that sweet spot that I am certain was made just for me. His hands are still at work in my hair, smoothing the tangled and slightly damp tendrils away from my face tenderly. His impossibly green eyes are once again boring into my soul as he whispers to me in the dark, as if his fixed stare wasn't enough to drain the life from my limbs.

"I love you."

Though it is a simple statement, I don't miss the power behind the words themselves. I can not even begin to count the times that I have said those very words to him, but repeating them now, when they mean something so very different, is too much for me. I say nothing, just hold on to him a little tighter and close my eyes against the tears of uncertainty and anxiety that threaten to fall from them.

Looking back, it is hard to say when exactly this affair between him and I began. Honestly, I don't know whether to start counting at six months ago, when feelings started to change, or three hundred years, when we met for the first time. I try to remember an existence before him and I come up short, devoid of any memory without him in it. For a long time now, he's been a constant for me and I can not imagine anything different, so I would like to think it was only natural and instinctual, what happened between us that night. After months of strange emotions and impressions, we had simply fallen together, as if we'd been lovers for ages, and slowly began to discover all that we were in the eyes of the other. The storm that we awakened was not something that either of us understood but neither did we question it at the time. Only later did we realize the implications of what we had done, what we continue to do even now. It is hard to imagine that something that feels so perfect and right could be a sin, but we are not completely senseless. As angels, we know very well that this is not just impermissible but very high on the list of forbidden actions. For a while, I thought we had done a pretty good job at hiding it, only coming together between assignments and not letting it get in the way of work. At first, I would only go to him on those evenings when our work for the day had come to a close and we would talk, reminisce, and make love through the night, parting ways again at dawn. But as things rapidly escalated between us, it became harder and harder to conceal from those we worked with most closely and harder to be away from each other. That's when the lies started spilling out and the secrets building up.

I still do not think that anyone knows the whole truth. If they did, I am positive that there would be a whole lot more in store for me than an _evaluation_. It was only when I started to get careless with work that they decided I needed an assessment. It is not in my nature, or any angel's for that matter, to show up late or flat-out miss assignments. So far, it is only me in trouble, as he has been more careful than I, though I don't trust that to last much longer. Of course, we know that there is no hiding anything from the Father and that the truth _will_ come out eventually.

"When do you go in?" He asks me, his words slicing through the silence and bringing me out of my reverie. He is referring to the meeting I am to have with Sam, Ruth, and whoever else.

"Tomorrow, early ..." I reply in a whisper, finding my voice at long last. I feel his arms tighten around me protectively and I know he wants to ask to come with me, but he doesn't because I've turned him down already a hundred times. I know that he hates to think of me going in there alone, to take the blame, but they did not summon us together and so I feel as though it is my battle to fight. I am sure that the time will come soon enough that they demand an explanation from the two of us, but that time is not quite yet. I reach for him over, wishing only to lose myself again, to think of something, anything, other than what tomorrow has waiting for me. I can think of no safer place than his arms, no place I'd rather be. It takes only seconds for the fire to ignite between us once more and we spend the remaining hours of the night entwined together in a passionate, breathless embrace.

Somehow, I must have succumbed to an exhaustion that I wasn't even aware of because I wake to early-dawn sunlight streaming in through the window sometime later. I do not even have to open my eyes to know that he is already gone. Though I ache for him, I am almost grateful that he left before I have to say goodbye. He must have known that it would be better this way. When I finally do open my eyes, they immediately come to rest on the pillow next to me, where his head lay only moments before. In his place, there is a note and beside that, his golden pocket watch. I reach for the timepiece, my fingers curling around the long chain and my heart swells with love for him and a renewed strength to face what lies ahead. He always knows just exactly how to set my mind at ease, with words, with looks, and with love. Tears sting the backs of my eyes as they skim over the piece of paper in my hands and as I prepare myself for the coming day and all that it entails, I am overcome with the fierce hope that I will be allowed to return to this place, where I have my happiest memories and where I know that his strong arms will be there waiting for me. Again, I have to remind myself to just breathe.

_You have my heart and no matter what happens today, next week, or a hundred years from now, I will follow you to the ends of the Earth. _

_Be on time._

_All my love,_

_Andrew_


End file.
